


we're a mirror pair, me and you

by bittersnake



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Academia, F/M, Fluff, Mathematics, Puns & Word Play, implied slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/pseuds/bittersnake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Rey wants to do is indulge her coffee addiction and do math in peace. The universe has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. assumptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuresoto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuresoto/gifts).



> Prompt: Anything fluffy and AU, preferably Modern AU, or one that involved Matt the Radar Technician :D  
> Hopefully, I fulfilled that????  
> Reylo Valentine Exchange Fic 2016 or hahahahhahahahaha _always outline children_
> 
> Shout out to chrysogenum for beta'd!

Finn Smith

>> Choosing the cardiology retreat over JMM

>> Best life choice or BEST LIFE CHOICE

Rey Niima

I hate you <<

Finn Smith

>> DID I MENTION THERE’S A HOT TUB?

>> ヾ(｡･ω･)ｼ

Rey Niima

WE ARE NO LONGER FRIENDS <<

Finn Smith

>> Dr. Snoke… just got into the hot tub.

>> I take back everything I just said.

Rey Niima

HA KARMA’S A BITCH INNIT <<

Finn Smith

>> ಥ_ಥ

Rey Niima

へ‿(ツ)‿ㄏ<<

Finn Smith

>> …maybe I’ll just remove my eyeballs

Rey Niima

u are a surgeon <<

Finn Smith

>> I am a surgeon.

>> I AM A SURGEON!!!

>> but srs where are you???

Rey Niima

At the LSE meet up <<

Finn Smith

>> LSE???

>> wait! LONDON SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS??

>> …but you didn’t go there…

Rey Niima

BUT I SOUND LIKE IT <<

(╯✧∇✧)╯<<

Conference parties existed for two reasons and only two reasons: One, networking with peers to gab about the good old days whilst consuming free food and two, sneaking in to steal the free food. The London School of Economics, whose food was unofficially ranked number one by the London Mathematical Society, was consequently the hardest to sneak into. Luckily, in spite of never actually setting foot inside of LSE, Rey has one thing going for her in this respect—she’s actually British.

For a gathering of mathematically oriented scientists, the energy of the room was quite good, she reflects, slowly nursing a lager in a corner of the room. This, along with the food, almost made up for the long-winded speech given by a red-haired LSE alumni regarding prestige and legacy and some other rot related to the university that she wasn’t terribly interested in but was stuck listening to because she made the mistake of sneaking in too early and sadly, had enough social graces not to do something so gauche as sneak out while he spoke. That the lectern he was standing behind was immediately across from the only entrance/exit to the room and he had already squawked when some poor person—most likely a graduate student—had attempted to excuse themselves with a plate laden with treats might have also played a part in her decision. As the speaker rounds onto the second hour of his speech, Rey decides that it’s probably time to hit the freshly restocked buffet for round two.

“So, are you a student, faculty, or a random scavenger come to pillage our fine offerings,” someone drawls behind Rey. She turns. The speaker is, unsurprisingly for the field and event, male, but he doesn’t quite look like he belongs. His pale mole-sprinkled complexion did lend itself to the academic stereotype, as did the thin rimless frames resting on his somewhat excessive nose and the longish hair that traditionally beleaguered academics, but his height eclipses her not insignificant height of five foot seven by at least half a foot, and his hands, which are holding a cheap plastic plate (for all the praise the quality of their food deserved, LSE’s tableware left something to be desired), are huge and solidly shaped. He looks more like a laborer then someone prone to constructing theories and models.

“Well, which is it? Student, faculty, or scavenger?” he repeats, a little impatiently.

“Why not an intersection of all three,” she begins, filling her plate from the buffet whilst balancing her drink. She turns back to her interrogator. “Better yet, which are you?” she shoots back, before resuming her _“_ scavenging”. She refuses to be intimidated by some easy on the eyes academic from exerting her Gauss-given right to consume as much free food and drink as she pleases.

 

“I consider myself a complement.”

 

“You been anything but complimentary since coming up to me--”

 

“No, I mean I am a complement.”

 

“Yet again, flattery is very much not your suit.”

 

“I’m a consultant,” he spits out, the tips of his ears peeking out of his hair start to redden at this point. Rey stares at the gentlemen, vaguely wondering if she should fake a phone call or let him continue on. She decides on the latter.

“....yes?”

The man sighs at this point and mutters something unintelligible. He takes breath as if bracing himself for something.

“If we have a set consisting of students, faculty, and scavengers,” he begins, pointedly glancing at her, “the complement of that set would including everyone not--”

 

“Not in that set, which includes consultants. Oh god that was _a joke._ ”

 

“Evidently not a very good one,” he mumbles, the color from his ears slowly spreading to his face.

 

“There’s no such thing as a ‘good’ math joke, ” she replies.

 

“Such sacrilege for an event like this.”

 

“And yet, you’re not disagreeing?”

 

“Valid,” he smiles ruefully.

 

“I see you’ve decided to go incognito tonight,” she nods in the direction of his shirt that’s devoid of a name tag.

 

He blinks quizzically.

 

Rey sighs. You can always depend on mathematicians to be socially inept.

 

“Name?”

 

At this point, the gentleman in question has a full on blush which is reaching the neckline of his shirt. She wonders offhandedly how low she can get it to go before promptly killing that line of thinking. The last thing she needs is a conference hook-up with some charming but socially awkward mathematician who she will be forced to avoid for the rest of her academic career no matter how attractive he is.

 

“Um...Matt. Yes, my name is Matt!” He nods at this proclamation as if repeating oneself was validation of one’s statement.

 

“Matt… “

She draws out the name, slowly taking in his visage again. He is the most unlikely looking (and very obviously not) Matt ever, but at least she doesn’t have to keep referring to him as “random bloke who decided to approach me at a buffet”.

 

“And you?”

 

“Seeing how we’re specializing in pseudonyms tonight—”, this leads to yet another embarrassed flush which Rey takes a perverse pleasure in seeing, “—you can call me Ada.”

 

“Ada,” he murmurs staring intensely at her. “Do you consider yourself an enchantress like your namesake,” he asks soft and low. Rey feels the room getting warmer in spite of the obvious breeze coming from the windows. It’s the wine.

 

“I wouldn’t claim to have the same impact as her at this time, but I feel that that I’ll converge in that direction,” she says hoping her voice is infused with bravado that she does not have at this time.

 

“And here I thought you said no math jokes,” he smirks. Totally the wine.

 

“I said there was no such thing as a _good_ math joke.”

“Touche,” not-Matt concedes.

 

He pauses and starts to move closer.

 

“THERE YOU ARE.”

 

Not-Matt’s frame becomes rigid like a cat. He starts rubbing the bridge of his nose as the ginger who was giving the speech earlier briskly approaches him.

“What do you want,” he bites out.

“Sorry to interrupt your _mingling_ ,” the newcomer snipes, staring disparagingly at Rey, “but we need to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting and for some reason his lordship wants you included.”

Matt sighs resignedly and looks at her.

“It seems that our paths are diverging, Enchantress.”

She makes a snap decision.

“How about we make it possible to converge again,” she says and rummages through her purse, fishing out her mobile and waving it at him.

 

He blinks.

 

“Oh.”

 

She has brief moment of _oh god did I completely misread this entire thing_ until he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a slim black mobile as well.

 

They both rattle off strings of digits and then he strolls off, ignoring the continual and increasingly shrill commentary of the red-haired man.

 

**\------------**

 

Professor Luke Skywalker was a well-regarded mathematician who had influenced multiple fields over his extensive career, the most recent of which were his emerging endeavors in the social sciences in collaboration with his sister, Dr. Leia Organa, head of the political science department at University of Coruscant. In spite of (or perhaps _due to)_ his extensive talents, Professor Skywalker was still the quintessential mathematician, and thus absolutely _rubbish_ at scheduling and conveying said scheduling to relevant parties, in particular, the newest math departmental hire and colleague, Dr. Rey Niima.

 

One of the perils of becoming an Academic(TM) that people were never warned about was the fact that the adrenaline rush that accompanied one after all-nighter—be it for work or pleasure or being asked by a senior colleague _oh hey, you know that collaborator meeting that we scheduled for last day of the conference? I took the liberty to moving it to tomorrow. Morning. Also, I forgot to import the slides, do you mind terribly if?_ —exponentially dropped off in effectiveness as time progressed. On the flip side, the coffee industry had a constantly replenishing junkie base in the form of sleep-deprived academics. Rey supposes it’s good that at least someone was benefiting from her misery as she waits in line at the continental breakfast for the only thing that will make the whole torturous affair tolerable.

“You look like a mess,” Finn notes, taking in Rey’s somewhat wrinkled clothes and the dark circles beneath her eyes as she shuffles up beside him at the refreshments table.

“Love you too, peanut. Now shut up and hold this,” she replies shoving a cup— “ _Jesus christ Rey, how hot did you ask them to make this”_ —into his hands before rummaging through her messenger bag.

“AH HA!” She surfaces, triumphantly brandishing a can of espresso and a Redbull. Finn winces.

 

“Peanut, no.”

 

“Peanut, yes,” she replies, attempting to retrieve her coffee from Finn. He leans away.

“ _Finnnnn_ ,” she whines. “I need that.”

 

“I took a Hippocratic oath to do no harm and what you are suggesting is harm.” Finn slowly edges away from the inevitable mess with Rey’s coffee and a plate of pastries and starts heading towards an empty table in the ballroom.

“Just give me my bloody coffee,” she grumbles murderously as she walks after him. Finn, long inured to her behavior, ignores the homicidal waves being aimed in his direction, sits down, and gestures to the seat to next to him.

“I thought you said you were going to sleep in this morning,” he asks as Rey collapses into the offered chair.She makes a half-hearted grab for coffee and misses. Crankily, she steals a danish from Finn’s plate.

“I was but Luke forgot to CC me the details of our meeting with our collaborators. Particularly, that the meeting is this morning, hence,” she waves haphazardly at their surroundings.

 

“So, no illicit hookups with anyone from the LSE party?”

 

“Well, I did the joy of having a long, hard--,”

 

“That was rhetorical question!!!”

 

“—night with PowerPoint and non-linear dynamics,” she finishes, surreptitiously retrieving her coffee and proceeding to enhance it.

 

Finn stares at the slow creation of the caffeine equivalent of an atom bomb in pain. “Navier-Stokes?” he says, resignedly picking at the remaining pastries.

 

“Even better: chaos theory.”

 

He pauses. “How is my old employer?” He remembers Rey ranting off and on about them and their debatable approach to research ethics, which only cements the relief he feels for leaving that think tank.

 

“Overall, decent except for Snoke’s group.”

 

“Wait what?!” Finn looks at Rey in horror. “You’re collaborating with them?!!?”

 

“It wasn’t my idea, it was Professor Skywalker’s idea,” she responds defensively.

 

“What on earth would compel Skywalker to work with directly with Snoke? He actually has a soul!”

 

“I think he wants to poach one of Snoke’s top analysts for the department.”

 

“Wait who? Phasma?” Finn says, thinking back to his former advisor.

 

Rey shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t a woman,” she remarks slowly sipping her illicit over-caffeinated concoction. “It was one of Snoke’s chaos theorists.”

 

“Skywalker is trying to recruit Kylo Ren?!” At this point, Finn’s eyes are nearing the diameter of Rey’s cup. She glances at the now dwindling coffee-hybrid concoction and debates heading back for round two of caffeine.

 

“Rey, are you even listening to me?”

 

Rey sighs, rubbing her face and mourning the denied sleep she could be having.

 

“Yes, we’re trying to get Kylo Ren, master chaos theorist and full time punk bitch.” She knocks back the last of her drink. Yep, definitely need another round before attempting meet her collaborators and Skywalker.

 

Finn rubs her shoulder consolingly. “That bad?”

 

She sighs again. “He’s obviously brilliant, but he’s abrasive and amazingly detached from the potential good his work can do. Also, his notation choices are _abysmal_.” She takes one last pastry and stands.

 

“Leaving already?”

 

Rey grimaces. “I have to be there in 20 minutes and I’m not terribly certain where the room is.”

 

“Good luck?”

 

“Only if it involves Ren getting thrown off a bridge.”

 

**\-------------**

Showing up 15 minutes late with Starbucks is a horrible horrible cliche Rey knows, but the free coffee ran dry before she could get another round and there was no way in hell she was showing up to an in-person meeting with the First Order without backup.

 

“I sincerely apologize for the delay”, she mutters while quickly scanning the room for Skywalker, nabbing the thankfully still empty seat next to him.

 

“Enchantress?”

 

Rey looks up from her notes towards the voice. Sitting across the table from her in all black with a name badge that very much does _not_ say Matt is Kylo Ah-yes-that-asshole-that-we’re-trying-to-convince-to-teach-for-us Ren. Of course, the one man she may have found somewhat attractive just had to be the mostly competent-- she refuses to use the word brilliant because the man’s ego, even with their somewhat _brief_ correspondence, is already inflated enough-- analyst and did Luke say something to her?

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” she says distractedly to her mentor.

 

Luke looks at Rey in concern and repeats himself.

 

“It seems that you and Dr. Ren have already met?”

 

She takes a deep breath and quickly reviews her options

                                            i) Acknowledge that they met last night under false pretenses and free food.

                                            ii) Lie, recognizing that everyone will be suspicious but _no one can prove a thing_.

 

“I’ve not had the honor of meeting _Dr._ Ren face to face,” she remarks. Her voice is saturated in enough sugar to rival the over-sweetened pastries from breakfast. “Perhaps he thought I was someone else?” she trails off.

 

“I believe that Dr. Niima is correct in this instance. The hour is somewhat early and I was mistaken.” Kylo remarked.

 

“I see...” began Luke. “Well either way we’re all here, so perhaps, we can discuss the paper and the reviewer’s comments?”

 

“Very well,” intones Dr. Ezekiel Snoke, head of the First Order Institute, and he begins the key note.

\--------------

 

A dull vibration by Rey’s foot startles her halfway through the presentations. At least, she _hopes_ it’s halfway through the presentations. In her rush to get out the door, she forgot to grab her conference book and thus has very little idea where they are in the program or who is even presenting. She glances at stage where a short plump woman of the name--according to the slides at least-- Beatriz Bey is presenting on machine learning. She rubs her face and is wishing she had gone for the Trenta coffee when another vibration occurs. She reaches down to grab her mobile, which reports that over the past-- jesus christ has it only been-- ten fucking minutes, she’s acquired 5 messages from _Matt_ i.e. he-whose-contact-info-will-be-changed-as-soon-as-possible.

 _Bzzt_.

Or now. Now would be an excellent time to fix improperly labeled contacts.

 

>> Matt

Forsaking my existence already, enchantress?

 

>> Matt

Enchantress?

 

>> Matt

Do you prefer scavenger instead?

 

>> Matt

You’re asleep aren’t you.

 

>> Matt,

I recognize that the intricacies of neural nets may escape mere engineers

 

>> Matt

but if this is the best that Skywalker has to offer ?

Rey Niima

(ﾉ-_-)ﾉ ~┻━┻ ☆ <<

>> Kylo

?????

Rey Niima

Sorry wrong one. <<

(┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻ <<

>> Kylo

....such eloquence.

Rey Niima

Only the best for the third derivative made flesh. <<

Luke nudges her shoulder. “You’re up next,” he murmurs softly. She stuffs her mobile away and heads towards the stage.


	2. induction

_** Induction ** _

She would be less annoyed by Ben Solo aka Kylo Ren for publishing purposes aka that fucking liar who she thought was cute for five delusional seconds except he doesn’t even have the decency to resemble the stereotypical mathematician. Yes, he’s lanky, but in a buff sort of way. According to Finn, he hits the gym regularly. He does have the requisite abysmal posture in spite of having stolen the nice ergonomic chairs from the neighboring psych department three months ago. They’ve been stuck sharing an office for the past year due to continual space allocation issues as cited by Tres Pio, the admin for the department. The tragedies of being the lowest rungs on the totem pole.

 

He has the grace to at least not be there the majority of the time, either out meeting with researchers from his old group at the First Order, discussing his transition with researchers from the _Resistance_ Institute of Advanced Studies (something about wrapping up dangling ends and server access), or attempting to convince undergrads that “Yes, calculus is useful in spite of your poor choice in major”. She gets the most done during those periods, free to pursue her love of coffee and nonlinear dynamics in peace as well as hog the whole white board.

“You need a teacher,” Ben dryly remarks, strolling into their office. 

And there goes the peace and serenity.

“Excuse me,” she replies indignantly. He tosses her an envelope from the the pile of letters and assorted journals, then drops down into the chair next to her and leans forward, bracing his elbow on his jean-clad thighs. 

“You. Need. A. Teacher.” He repeats himself, sounding out each word slowly. His lips are distressingly soft as they form each syllable.

“And you’ve come to this conclusion, in spite of the fact that I already _am_ a teacher, how?” she bites out, wondering if murdering one's colleagues would jeopardize her tenure process. 

“That’s debatable, I’ve seen your evaluations,” he shoots back. Murder may be worth it. Finn could bail her out, right?

“Skywalker mentioned that you needed at teacher for your class?” he continues. 

Oh, that thing. 

Every other year, the department offers a seminar series on real world applications of mathematics. It’s a popular class, but the problem is convincing faculty to sign up to teach even a _single fucking lecture_. This year, Rey has the debatable honor of being the course supervisor. Normally, Luke was the course supervisor as he had both the temperament to coerce faculty members to _consider imparting their vast wealth of knowledge upon the student body_ as well as the necessary seniority to twist arms. Sadly, Luke decided to take a sabbatical to _Ireland,_ citing the need for reflection for his next book. That Dr. Jade and Dr. Calrissian _just so_ happened to be conducting an anthropological study regarding the origins of Irish whiskey making was a complete and total coincidence _, really, Rey, I feel you’re being over suspicious at such a young age._ Either way, her mentor had dropped of the face of the earth, leaving her in charge of convincing erstwhile faculty members to give _accessible_ lectures on their fields and their application to reality. 

“We already have an economist--” she begins.

“I was considering giving a talk on chaos theory,” he replies shortly. 

“You’re an economist--”

“I was a quantitative analyst but my thesis was on chaos theory.”

“...in what?”

“Signal processing….in radars.”

The neighboring labs mention hearing an odd cackling sound echoing through the halfways for a good five minutes.

\-----------

Watching Ben teach is an experience unto itself. He’s not as refined as his uncle Luke, who’s able to somehow infuse a room filled with anxious undergraduates into peaceful reflection, calmly deflecting trolls and pulling shyer students into the class discussion. Solo, on the other hand, comes off intimidatingly intense . But he’s inventive, often dragging multiple disparate disciplines to form a surprisingly cohesive lecture. 

Having Ben as a colleague isn’t all bad, Rey supposes. It’s nice to have a someone in the department within an epsilon of her age as opposed to being two to three times it. And, when he’s not scowling or being particularly difficult at acknowledging that he’s _not infallible; go check your algorithm because it’s obviously wrong,_ they’ve reached a semi-stable equilibrium. Finn likes him but his opinions are clearly influenced by the fact that Ben has been actively spiking the coffee pot with decaf. The scum. She stole all his spare contact lenses as recompense. The fact that it resulted in Ben wearing his glasses for the next two months was only an added benefit. 

\--------

One day, Rey shows up to see his side of the office has been stripped. The worn leather jacket that he tends to leave behind is gone. The markers that he’s far far too possessive over, his blanket for when the heat tends to fail--the joys of having an overly ventilated office-- and all his books except one. She’s not upset. One-hundred and fifty quintillion percent she’s not upset. She’s totally fine. She’d been counting down the days till he left ~~till one day she stopped~~. It was only a temporary arrangement.

She didn’t mean to become accustomed him and his presence, and the long talks over coffee about anything and everything be it teaching styles (she favors the Ataru philosophy, drawing on an engineering background riddled with project driven learning; he has a preference for Niman which is more of an immersive style), life plans and dreams (a Fields medal for her, teaching for him), or just gossip about fellow faculty members current and previous (whether Professor Emeritus Yoda will actually retire this year or if this was just another excuse for a party). She'd begun to assume he'd be a constant presence. She’s fine, honestly, _but the bastard could have at least said goodbye._

There’s a knock at the door.Odd, as she didn’t close the door.

“Hey.” She turns.

It’s Ben. Standing awkwardly in the doorway with a small potted plant cradled in his arm and a box in another.

She stares.

“I didn’t think you were coming in until later today,” he says, fidgeting, then pushes through. “The department finally got the space they were asking for? Admin Pio told me when I got in this morning.”

“I had a meeting,” she replies distantly staring at the pot in his arms. Is that a wheel?

“Ah,” he replies looking anywhere but her.

“Ben, why does that pot have _wheels_ ,” she asks faintly confused. 

“Oh this,” he says, suddenly noticing that he’s carrying a pot with wheels glued on(?). He blushes. Ben Solo is blushing over a plant. If she wasn’t trying to determine why her heart refuses to stop racing, Rey’d be having a field day over this.

He shifts his weight to hold out the plant as if offering to her. She stares quizzically at it.

“It’s for you. Well for your office. Your new office that is,” he appears to say to the ground.

She takes the plant. It’s a plant. That for some reason has wheels attached to the bottom as well as a tag. She flips over the tag. It says “To Rey. Love, Ben.” She looks up at him.

“It’s a plant,” she states.

“A grape plant,” he adds.

She blinks. “You gave me a grape plant...with wheels.”

“So it could commute….,” he trails off. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, this was much more clever at 5 am--uumph”

His lips are as soft as they look. She pulls back and looks at him. He drops the box and this time pulls her in.

His kisses are far better than his jokes.

 

_** Lemma ** _

****

Some days when she’s not in a perpetual caffeine induced haze, which, contrary to departmental rumors, is _not_ 24/7 _..._ most weeks, Rey acknowledges that beds are pretty awesome. Beds that feature dark-haired men--well _a man_ \-- with a predilection for chaos theory and cuddling? Even better. 

She attempts to roll over and fails. Ben burrows his face deeper into her neck, almost nuzzling it, and mumbles sleepily.

She nudges at his shoulder. He starts to nip at the join between her neck and shoulder in response. She shudders. “You told me you needed to finish grading,” she murmurs, “and you made me promised to make sure that you finished no matter-- _ah!”_

His hands moves lower underneath the sheets. “Hmm,” he replies starting to alternate between bites and long sucks along her throat.

 

She tries again half-heartedly. “You,” she rolls her hips towards his hand at this, “grading.” He strokes her in response.

“I could grade derivatives or,” he replies huskily, “I could be your derivative and lie tangent to your curves.”

 

_THUMP!_

 

“Owwww, Rey what the hell?!?!” he whines sprawled on the the ground.

 

Rey gathers all the sheets and comforters and swaths them around herself to form a cocoon of shunning. She glares at Ben, savoring one of the few times that she can _look down at him._

 

“That joke has rescinded all bed privileges until further notice,” she sniffs.

 

“Reeeeyyy,” he cajoles.

 

“GRADE.”

He sighs, realizing she’s not going to be swayed for the time being, and starts gathering himself together.

 

“I love you,” he throws out softly, exam papers in hand as he heads towards their living room.

“I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh thank you for reading (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧  
> Please leave comments/concrit/questions!  
> Feel free to hit me up on my tumblr (mnemehoshiko.tumblr.com) to say hi or to be subjected to YET MORE MATH JOKES


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